


While Tryin' to Help

by DragonxFox



Series: Can't Ignore [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Asphyxiation, Breathplay, Confused Dean, Dean in Denial, M/M, Rimming, season one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-04
Updated: 2014-03-04
Packaged: 2018-01-24 05:15:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1592903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonxFox/pseuds/DragonxFox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam can't let Dean keep ignoring the things between them. He just won't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	While Tryin' to Help

Months pass by and the brothers continue their new routine. When one of them gets hurt with more than just a scratch, or Dean gets drunk or too flirty, or Sam goes off on his own right when they’re about to gank something, that’s when the other’s hands start wandering.

They don’t do much. Kissing to reassure each other when it’s dark out, Sam’s sasquatch-self wrapped around Dean in the middle of the night and handjobs that take the edge off whatever’s been riding them. It’s horribly not enough and too much whenever things start and Dean’s sure he’s going to tear off his skin if this keeps up for too much longer.

Because, while it was a slow assessment at first - of them trying to see what was and wasn’t allowed, what made the other’s eyes lose focus and unsure of how welcome the advance would be - the air’s been getting heavier around them. Dean can feel something changing between them and he doesn’t know if it’s even possible to stop it. Especially now, with evidence of Meg’s violence on his Sammy’s skin; with her scent still on Sam as Dean closes the motel door, when all he’s been able to smell on Sam lately is himself and that hint of pine-soap he always gets.

He’s disinfecting every scratch, swatting Sam’s hands away and telling him to strip in a tone that would make even their Dad proud.

"You’re being ridiculous," Sam says. But he can’t hide the flash of pain that goes through his abdomen as he starts removing what’s left of his shirts.

"Shut it," Dean warns, med kit at the ready. "If you hadn’t been all mopey about whatever you’ve been moping about, she wouldn’t have even gotten her hands on you." His tone is still cold, eyes taking in the bruises even as he feels Sam’s ribs for anything that could be broken.

"I can take care of myself, Dean."

"Yeah, and you’ve got a real good way of showing it."

Sam shakes his head, glaring at Dean. “Just give me the kit-“

"No."

"I’m not a kid, Dean.”

"Noticed that, Sammy. Otherwise I’d still get you kids meals. But if you’re feeling that defensive about it," Dean says with a shrug, "then go ahead. Do everything yourself. You haven’t needed me for a long time."

Sam snatches the med kit from Dean’s hands, closing it before putting it down on the floor beside them. Dean’s already reaching for his duffel, pulling out his gun cleaning supplies and a clean set of clothes by the time Sam stands and walks over to him.

Dean pushes at his chest, green eyes shining in the poorly lit room. And that’s the sign Sam recognizes Dean give right before he starts swinging, but he can’t stop himself from stepping back into Dean’s space.

His fingers twitch with the urge to grab Dean, to shake some sense into him. To finally get his brother to talk about the things they’ve been doing, about the looks he gives Sam when he thinks Sam doesn’t notice - so full of hunger and want that it makes heat pool in Sam’s stomach almost immediately, leaving him half-hard and wanting for the rest of the day.

"Go shower," Dean says, standing as straight as he can, the way he did when they were younger and Sam treated him as nearly Godly. "You reek."

"Do I?" Sam asks, taking another step forward and getting an odd thrill when Dean - his big brother, the one who’s always taken care of him and told him what to do - takes a step back in response. "Cuz all I can smell," he says, staring at Dean’s lips as he licks his own, "is you."

"What, uh, what’re you talkin’ ‘bout?" Dean replies, eyes on Sam’s lips and imitating the gesture even as he takes another step back, letting Sam walk them until Dean’s back meets the wall. That’s when his eyes jump back to Sam’s, wide and startled. "Sammy?"

"Yeah," he says, lowering his head and brushing his lips against Dean’s. "Can smell you everywhere. My clothes, the beds we share. And it’s worse now."

His hands come up, one thumb tracing Dean’s lower lip while the other rubs at Dean’s Adam’s apple. And he still can’t believe how responsive his brother is or the gasp he makes when the thumb on his Adam’s apple moves so that Dean’s throat is in his hand. The way Dean’s legs automatically spread, just the tiniest bit, when Sam does that and the small groan that escapes his lips when Sam applies gentle pressure there. But he never touches back, hands dangling uselessly at his side or clenched and Sam hates that more than anything else.

"Want you," he whispers, leaving a trail of kisses on his brother’s jaw. Getting close, but not quite kissing him the way they both want. He can’t - not tonight, not again. This time, this time has to be different. He has to get his brother to admit to this - to wanting - because Sam’s patience is dangerously low, even with his denial-and-avoid brother. "Please," he says, tightening his hold on Dean’s neck and watching, amazed, as Dean’s pupils explode.

"Yeah," Dean rasps. "Yeah, Sammy, yeah. Need you."

"Then show me."

And that’s it. Dean’s hands are finally on him, running down his sides frantically, yet still careful around his ribs on the right - never forgetting, never not being the Dean Sam remembers - and pulling him in until Sam’s body is flush with Dean’s.

"Come on," Dean mutters, fumbling with Sam’s belt with one hand as he pulls Sam’s head down with the other for a kiss.

"Dean," Sam breathes, not letting go of his brother’s neck as he grinds into him. "Always like this," he mumbles, grinding even harder against Dean and causing them both to groan. "Need you," he says, other hand wrapping around Dean’s waist and dipping lower still until he can fully grip Dean’s ass.

"Sam," Dean says, biting off a curse as Sam grinds into him and squeezes his ass simultaneously. "Come on, don’t," he says, panting now, hands shaking as he struggles to pull Sam’s zipper down. "Too many fucking clothes."

Which is something Sam completely agrees with. Except he doesn’t want to let go of Dean, terrified that if he does, his brother will put up another wall between them again. And his hand tightens briefly, more than he’s ever let happen before, only to hear Dean whimper.

The remaining blood in his head rushes south and he dips his head, cutting off Dean’s panting breaths and pushing his thigh right against Dean so that he can grind down as much as he wants or needs because now - now Sam’s not thinking right.

Even in the kiss he’s taking control, taking every bit of it he can from his brother and tearing his lips away with the same speed as he crashed them against Dean’s, determined to rid his brother of all the shirts he’s wearing. Every piece of clothes, every second Sam can’t touch Dean’s skin, is wrong.

And it’s amazing, really, how cooperative Dean is - fumbling with his belt buckle and digging his nails into Sam’s biceps as he tugs Dean’s jeans and boxers down in one go.

"Boots," he grits out, pulling away from Dean and watching him wobble for a second as he regains his footing. "Off."

But that’s all the explanation his brother needs and he’s chucking his pants and shoes just as quickly, desperate to get his hands on Dean’s skin. To hear Dean lose himself to this - finally, finally please - and lose himself to Sam the way Sam’s been wanting for too long.

The moment they’re free of clothes, they’re on each other again. Except Sam lets Dean walk him backwards until the back of his knees touch the bed. Then he flips them, nearly tossing Dean onto it in his need and groaning at the sight of Dean’s cock bouncing with the motion.

He crawls onto the bed after him, kissing his way up from Dean’s naval until their lips meet. Their teeth clink, awkward and with horrible timing, but not less good - no less them - and Sam would laugh about it, really, if he could get past the feel of Dean’s hands scrabbling at his back, fingers digging in at random intervals as if he were scared Sam was the one who would put an end to all this. Which was just so ridiculous and so Dean that Sam did pull away, pushing Dean back when he tried following Sam’s lips.

"Sam, what’re you-"

But that’s as far as he got, head falling back onto the bed as Sam licked a stripe up his brother’s cock. Keeping his hands on Dean’s hips, stopping him from moving them and noticing the way Dean’s hands fisted the sheets when he did, only encouraged Sam to continue the tease.

"Stop, Sam. Sammy," Dean choked out, trying to sound angry and only making more blood rush to Sam’s neglected cock at just how wrecked he was beginning to sound. "Can’t, stop bein’ such a-"

"Such a what?" Sam asked, making sure to keep his mouth close enough to his brother’s now spit-slick dick that his every word would send a shiver up Dean’s spine.

But Dean only groaned, pushing his hips into Sam’s still firm grip and moaning when his little brother’s fingers dug into his skin - barely moving an inch even though he wanted, needed his brother’s mouth on him again.

"Come on," Sam said, licking at a stray bead of precome and moaning at the taste. "What am I being?"

"Tease! You’re being a fuckin’ tease and I can’t. Sam, just, please. I, I need-"

And all of it, the cursing and the way Dean’s hands fisted and unfisted on the sheets, gripping and releasing them as he tossed his head left and right, trying to form enough words - to get his message through to Sam - sent another hot thrill through Sam.

"Shh," Sam whispers, fingers rubbing soothingly at Dean’s hips as he places feather light kisses on Dean’s balls. "I’ve got you."

Which is the farthest thing from a lie. Because he nearly chokes on his attempt to swallow Dean down in one go. It’s not something he’s done before and he can taste the sweat and musk that’s all Dean which is, honestly, the reason he moans at the same time Dean lets out a string of curses.

He bobs his head with basically no rhythm, increasing suction and doing his best to take as much of Dean into his mouth as he can. It’s probably not the best blowjob Dean’s ever had, but the way he keeps gasping, white-knuckled grip on the bed’s sheets and repeating Sam’s name over and over again, Sam figures he’s definitely not the worst.

It’s Dean’s thighs, really, that give him away. Sam’s watched and felt Dean come enough times now to recognize the way the muscles in his thighs start clenching whenever he’s close.

That’s when Sam’s grip shifts, releasing Dean’s hips and grabbing his thighs; pulling them up and onto his shoulders while he pulls off Dean’s cock with an obscene ‘pop’ that has Dean sitting up and gasping, panting, pupils completely blown and looking like a perfectly debauched pornstar as Sam’s lips mouth over Dean’s balls, kissing and licking them until Dean’s a complete mess.

Reduced to only whimpers and Sam’s name when he can take a deep enough breath to say it, Dean’s exactly what Sam had always dreamed. Back when he thought it was wrong and one-sided. When they were with their Dad and travelling so often that Sam couldn’t blame his brother for wandering off and chasing after girls whenever he could given his age.

But now, now he’s watching Dean without any mask hiding just how much he wants him. Now he’s hearing his brother as he gets closer to the edge and oh so desperate to come that he can barely say Sam’s name and it’s absolutely perfect.

Right until he dips lower still, tongue tracing his brother’s crack. Because Dean nearly jumps off the bed then, giving such a loud shout that Sam’s head automatically snaps up to see what’s wrong. And Dean’s shaking his head no but his hips move closer to Sam, legs pulling him in and he can’t deny his brother when he’s in so much need.

He mouths at his brother’s rim, laving at the tight little pucker until it starts to loosen. There’s lube somewhere. He’s almost sure of it. But right now, all he’s got is his own spit to smooth the way for his finger. Dean shouts again, back arching and hands scrabbling for purchase on the loosened bed sheets.

Sam’s hand, which had lazily been jerking himself, travels up until he finds one of Dean’s. His brother’s grip alternates between deadly tight and utterly slack as Sam’s tongue starts to work itself inside his hole, right alongside Sam’s finger.

"Can you take more?" he asks, second finger teasing at his brother’s loosened hole. "I think you can," he says, loud enough for Dean to hear and is rewarded by Dean pushing himself down, getting Sam’s second finger to breach him down to the first knuckle in one go.

Dean’s voice is so low and gravelly that Sam knows it’ll be hoarse tomorrow as he moans, long and loud as Sam begins pumping his fingers inside his brother, cursing at just how tight Dean is and starts scissoring his fingers when Dean’s thighs clamp down on him as he sits up, taking both of Sam’s fingers in all the way as he comes, shouting Sam’s name as he does.

And it’s too perfect. Because Sam had only just started really, but hearing his brother shout his name like that, seeing the thick bursts of come shoot out of his cock, pushes Sam right over the edge. With Dean’s name and a curse on his lips, he comes undone.

He slumps on the bed, head resting on Dean’s right thigh as he tries to catch his breath. He’s still got two fingers in his brother’s ass when Dean groans, weakly pulling at Sam for a kiss. And Sam knows Dean’s tasting himself, hand twitching and groaning at his dick’s attempt at filling again so soon at the thought. Dean groans with him, hips lifting just enough for Sam’s fingers to slide out.

And Sam’s exhausted. He can feel his eyes drooping, muscles too lax to do much anymore as he wraps one arm around his brother’s waist, pulling him until Dean’s the little spoon. Before he can open his smart-mouth to complain, however, Sam’s hand moves up from his hip until it’s wrapped - albeit loosely - around Dean’s neck.

Almost immediately, the tiny bit of resistance he’d felt in Dean melts away. He lets go long enough to pull the blanket on top of them before laying down just as he was, with Dean lifting his chin for Sam’s hand to fit perfectly as his thumb lightly rubs at Dean’s neck.

Things are definitely not going back to the way they were before.


End file.
